Valiance UNDER REWRITE
by MinisteryOfMonsters
Summary: [Part 1 of the Valiance Series] The doctor believed he was ready to move on from the war and to start afresh with a new companion, Martha Jones, by his side. But with a familiar face returning from the past, the last of the Timelords begins to reflect on himself and, perhaps, help this wounded and battle-worn woman to smile again.
1. Part 1 - Chapter 1

**Part 1 – The Shadows of St Luke**

**"_As incompetent in life as in death, I loathe myself and in this loathing I dream of another life, another death. And for having sought to be a sage such as never was, I am only a madman among the mad . . ." _**

**― _Emil Cioran, A Short History of Decay_**

* * *

**Warning ****\- This story deals with heavy themes and subject matter that some viewers may find upsetting. Read with caution.**

* * *

It was the morning of October 19th, 2015, when the sense of hallows eve was drawing near. Everyone seemed excited, preoccupied with planning their midnight parties while scanning their weary eyes over the dry ink printed on white whenever they felt the weight of eyes upon them. It wasn't like most places, where the youth would disregard their time with mundane tasks and daydreaming over lovers. Instead, St Luke's University was a place of learning that earned its name and reputation for being one of the best in Britain. It had competition, of course, but as it was everyone was content.

The young woman, with her apron and afro tied back, cleaned the dining tables of the site knowing that soon they would be considered bins to pile trash on. Of course, work was work, and the paycheck was almost enough to make up for the repetitive tasks. She didn't mind, however, since it was a subtle way to pass the time and it allowed her to have a moment of peace as she recovered from the cluster of youths scavenging for the last chip.

When the morning lectures came to an end, it felt as though a stampede of coloured hair and bright clothes swarmed the dining hall. Thankfully, it was also a warm day, and many of the students had decided to spend their break resting on the freshly cut green. The young woman couldn't help the smile that crept over her face when a group of girls quivered at a harmless bee.

She often found herself chatting to many of the students of diverse backgrounds and ambitions. Most of those who graced her with more than a few chosen words tended to have a degree in the scientific field, but the young woman wasn't that interested in the mumbo jumbo. But, despite her disinterest, she very much enjoyed listening to their conversations and found herself talking about the most mundane of things. She found it comforting, even as the news chose to forget the achievements made in favour of whatever would get the most attention.

Since no one was watching, and her supervisor was busy elsewhere, she took a seat on an empty table and ate away at a French fry she had boldly swiped from someone's plate. After all, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and any student that found out would reply with a cheeky grin. Everyone knew her at the University, and it was hard to scramble words that would speak falsely of their favourite cleaner.

As she minded her own business, wandering off for the tenth time that day, she saw a familiar face with pigtails and blonde hair in the crowd and lifted her hand lazily as if to wave. The girl offered a smile and set down on the table with a plate that displayed a smaller portion than recommended.

"Hello, Miss Potts." The girl spoke.

The cleaner smiled in response, eyeing the red plate. "You still on a diet?"

"I've been putting on weight, so I have to watch what I eat."

"You look fine to me. Who's been saying you've put on weight?"

The girl didn't seem to answer straight away, falling over her words almost as she struggled for a response. "Well, no one."

"If anyone said that to me, I'd tell them to piss off!"

A squeak passed the girls lips. "Miss! You shouldn't be swearing like that!"

"We're all adults, Rebecca! I'm sure we can handle it."

Rebecca Bowers was one that would be considered quiet at her school but not so much to blend too far into the crowd. She spent much of her time in the warm embrace of stories written on parchment and placed study over pleasure. The only time Potts engaged in conversation with her was usually in the mornings as Rebecca would spend the rest of the day hanging out in the study hubs with students from her unit, mostly to work on group projects in photography. She had a best friend, as she mentioned many times to Miss Potts, who studied eight hours away from home but always made sure to make time for her friend with calls and texts. Much like Miss Potts herself, it was challenging to think of a bad word for Rebecca as she was well-liked in her class, and people admired Rebecca for her skills with the lens.

"If you say so, Miss." Rebecca smiled as she took a bite out of her chicken curry.

"I _know_ so." With the tip of the French fry now devoured, Potts wiped her hands on her dark blue apron and leaned forward on her elbows on the table. "So then, what's the gossip for today?"

"Miss, I'm not an eavesdropper."

Potts replied with a raised eyebrow and a cheek to her grin. Rebecca couldn't help the small blush of embarrassment at being caught in her lie.

"Ok, you got me."

"_Well?_"

Potts also didn't deny that she got quite a lot of gossip from Rebecca, especially when she didn't talk much with people and decided to use her ears rather than her mouth. As long as she wasn't digging for the next scoop, Potts didn't make a fuss.

"So," Rebecca started, "I heard that there's a new lecturer to replace Dr Stacey in the Physics department."

Potts scoffed. "_Again_? Didn't he join a few months ago? What happened?"

"I'm not sure, and they said he left on a personal matter. I didn't listen further since I didn't want to be rude."

"Yeah, I get that. So, who's the new guy, then?"

"He's called John Smith, and he's already been gaining a lot of attraction from the girls."

"Handsome bloke, then?"

"Mmhm." Rebecca peered over her shoulder, looking over at the students waiting in line for their next meal. In the queue, a tall man waited with a white tray and one hand situated in his jean pocket. Dressed in a dark blue suit with his brown hair spiked up with gel, Potts could imagine why the girls could find him attractive. To her, however, his hair looked like nothing but greasy twigs. Rebecca nodded in his direction, gesturing to Miss Potts. "That's him there."

Her eyes followed the food that lazily fell with a splat to his tray and shuddered inwardly. Suffice to say; she was not impressed. "He isn't very tidy; that's for sure."

"People have been talking about his lectures. They're considered perfect even if they go off topic a lot."

"I'm surprised he still has his job if that's the case."

"I haven't been to one of them, so I don't know how good they are. Maybe you could sneak in and tell me if it's good?"

"Sorry, Rebecca, but I still have a job to do."

"Just once, _please?_ It's the only favour I'll ask for."

Miss Potts pondered on the idea. After all, it wasn't like she couldn't get someone else to do her shift and she could quickly work overtime without a fuss. That was something Potts was willing to do after all. However, merely dismissing her work could result in dire consequences, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to risk her job for this. However, the conversation with Rebecca had made her curious, and the one thing Potts was a victim of was her desire for prying knowledge. So, why not?

With a sigh, Potts stood from the table and grabbed her cloth from the pocket of her apron. "Alright, Rebecca. _Once _and that's all. Now, I need to bugger off so I can get back to work."

Rebecca laughed at the comment. "Enjoy yourself, Miss."

"_Oh_, I will. Promise me, Rebecca. Never get a job like mine."

"I'll make sure I won't; don't worry."

With a smile, Miss Potts returned to her duty and mopped the once clean and sparkling floors of the dining hall. The students scurried out from their seats and left the building in disarray for the next set of lectures for the following afternoon. With a heavy sigh, Miss Potts got to work for the next hour or so, wishing that she was enjoying the late summer breeze.

* * *

So, with her word kept, Miss Potts turned full-on investigation mode and invaded the many timetables of the University. It turns out, the head of the science department was much more accommodating than most, and it wasn't long before she was skimming through the timetable that he had offered to her. All it took was some convincing and maybe a small white lie. She examined through the document now saved to her phone and looked for the name John Smith listed on the dates.

"Just one," she reminded herself, "Just one lecture, and I can get this over and done with."

Life is a funny thing; events that seem constant and ordered can be rather flimsy and undefined. One choice can lead to a tonne of disasters or wonders, and men can shape the very concept of being. That certainly wasn't something Potts expected to say in her whole life, especially not a month later with a notepad and pen, sitting among other students in a lecture room.

John Smith was a unique case, holding himself with wisdom and ecstatic energy that lifted a tired and dreary class from the gloom of the earth and high above the clouds of space, among the shining stars and nebula. He was laid back and close in demeanour to the students, which allowed them to feel comfortable and focused. He spoke about many things, some things that weren't even relevant to the class, but no one seemed to speak up or stop him. Instead, they allowed him to brag and chat about all sorts of things. Of course, after minutes of talking about Rome and the many years it would take to get to Jupiter, he always managed to get back on track somehow and do his job.

Potts recalled one time when he talked about the importance of life, from the smallest moments to the most bizarre. He spoke about all of them, shaping the person you were and the person you would become, the scholar or the astronaut or the artist or the musician. To which path any would take, he expressed that it must be a future written by you and to use your experience of the past to learn and grow, to become a more exceptional person then you could ever be.

Potts couldn't help the hint of sadness in his voice, a low and gentle hum of waves that glowed with comfort among the people. He was a young man, but Potts sometimes wondered if he knew more than he was letting on. More than, in some way, hurt him deeply.

That night, when the stars were silent, and the static of the TV sizzled, and a lone woman cuddled her frame on the leather of the couch, she thought about her mother.

She tried to remember the smallest moments she had with her, the moment her little and chubby hands connected with hers before the light from her beautiful eyes were taken and envisioned her beautiful voice putting the young Potts to sleep. She hoped, substantially, that to whichever moment was her last it was one of happiness and joy. She prayed quietly, as she stared up at the ceiling above her, that more moments could have existed between them.

Moira, her carer, came home from work an hour later seeing the shivering form of the young Potts alone in her bed, having cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Days had passed since Potts last thought about her mother. She tried to keep herself occupied with the extra shifts at the canteen and concentrated on the mundane and monotonous movements of food falling onto the plates of students. She kept her routine with Rebecca, asking about her day and talking about simple things, especially her time with Mr Smith albeit sparingly. She would do anything that would drag her mind away from the lost moments she would never get back, and for a time, it managed to distance her attention from the ordeal, but the usual distraction was soon beginning to lose its effect.

At the end of the lunch break, when Rebecca bid her goodbye for another hour of lessons, Potts asked her boss to leave for a few moments and wasted no time in an answer as she rushed out of the canteen while ignoring the concerned whispers from her co-workers. The thoughts lingered within Potts as her fear began to build up inside against her control.

With little thought or care, she found herself alone in the corridors of the building leaning against the wall beside her and allowed the stifled tears to breach her weary eyes.

She wished that she knew her mother's face and the colour of her eyes and the tone of her voice. Sometimes she begged for a moment to talk to her and learn everything about her. She wondered if the two had anything in common if they would speak more or wander away from each other. As much as anything, she wished she knew her mother. She dreamed for a chance to have her loving embrace by her side.

Alive.

Potts was so deep in her thoughts, swimming in her own deafening and internal screams, that the smallest touch that rested on her shoulder shook her back into reality and caused her to wipe her eyes of the evident sorrow quickly. When she locked eyes with the person beside her, she noted the worry in her russet gaze.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and wrapped with comfort.

Potts nodded; a small sniffle escaped her, and a smile forced its way through the cracks. "Yeah, 'course."

The sadness in the woman's eyes was enough conviction that her words held no weight of the false truth and within moments arms wrapped around her, taking Potts back almost instantly.

"You don't have to lie."

The barriers broke, and before Potts even knew what was happening, she found herself sitting in the office of Mr Smith.

Time was slow, creaking against the seconds that ticked from the old grandfather clock and singing among the rain that tip tapped the window opposite her; staining it with its drops. Potts was unsure of the kind gesture, knowing that it wasn't every day that a stranger would find her breaking down in the school hallways and offer her tea, but the woman insisted; saying that Mr Smith wouldn't mind since he was busy with other things. Potts didn't question further, not wanting to pry and possibly ruining her first impression. Although, she gathered that her embarrassing scene earlier was enough to squander that potential.

While waiting, Potts looked around the room and felt surrounded by a sense of nostalgia and a home-like aroma. She was seated on an old brown leather chair mixed with the brunet walls of black and white photos of past students seated stiffly upon rows of others and combined with fake smiles that proceeded to greet her through the glass. On the desk in front of her, a frame held a photo of a young girl with its surface wrinkled and folded— possibly a girl from the early 1960's— alongside a small jar containing a single rose freshly cut from the bushes of the University gardens.

Something that caught Potts's eye, however, was a large object sitting alone in the corner of the room. From memory, Potts identified it as a 1960's police box and noted the 'out of order' sign hanging on the knob of the door. Potts smiled a little, seeing how it sat quietly with obedience and strangely matched the tone of the room despite it being many centuries out of date. Although, she questioned how it was even able to be here in the first place due to its enormous size. She guessed that Mr Smith assembled it from scratch from a catalogue. Or maybe Mr Smith won it in a raffle. Whichever way the circumstance fit, it certainly was a sight to behold, and it caused a small glee in her eyes to surface.

"Sorry for the wait; the coffee machine was acting up a bit."

Potts was pulled from her thoughts as she smiled in understanding at the woman who walked in with a freshly made cuppa. Potts took the brew and held it tightly in her hand. With her work gloves still in tow, the heat from the cup caused no harm. The young woman then sat down in the chair opposite her, which admittedly had been worse for wear and held her mug close with woollen hands containing the fuming heat.

"It's alright; you weren't that long."

The woman smiled lightly, taking a small sip of her drink.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Potts spoke with sudden guilt. "It's the first time for me."

"You don't have to apologise. We all have one of those days. I certainly did for a while."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't be flipping _crying_ in the middle of the hallways." Potts made a small effort to laugh, not caring on its credibility and certainly ensuring that she kept her language in check. As always, Potts didn't use such strong language with strangers, not knowing if such words would be familiar to them.

The woman merely nodded, keeping her caring eyes on the grieving cleaner. She showed hesitation, tapping her fingers in a rhythm of four against the pottery of the cup, before speaking with caution. "Can I ask what brought it on?"

Potts shrugged. "I d'know, just been having one of those weeks, I guess?"

"Do you normally have these periods?"

With a small sniffle and a scratch from the back of her wrist, Potts shook her head. "No. Normally I get on with it. I think it started with that lecture Mr Smith gave. Something about small moments?"

The woman nodded knowingly with a slight amusement surfacing on her face. It seemed that this kind of thing was common knowledge to the young lady. "Yeah, I remember that."

"That day, I started thinking about my Mum. The thing is, I've never met her. She died when I was born so—I never got to know her or have any idea on how she looked. And lately, I've just been living through some mundane routine, and I just...broke."

The woman placed a soft hand on Potts's shoulder as her eyes of understanding met hers. Potts invited them, seeing through the cloud that separated them. "I'm so sorry. It must have been hard for you."

"Yeah, I mean Moira does her best with me since I can get a bit difficult. I don't mean to be it's—I d'know. I guess when I think about it, my life hasn't been that interesting."

"I'm sure that's not true. It might seem that way, but you have people who will support you and a woman who cares about you. How you feel is completely understandable. I mean, I don't want to say that I get what you mean since I've never been in your shoes. But I'll be here if you need me. If you need to talk about anything, I'll be here to listen."

"I don't want to get in the way of your work-"

"You won't be. Seriously, if you need to talk at any time, I'll be here."

It was strange; Potts had never seen such kindness from a stranger before or even someone willing to help a mere cleaner with her troubles. It almost felt comforting, and like half of her problems could finally be lifted from a dark and miserable vale.

"Thank you," Potts responded, trying to keep herself from causing another unwanted scene of emotion, "you have no idea how much that means to me."

"You don't need to thank me. I saw someone who needed my help and, if it makes your life feel any better, I'd gladly do it regardless."

"Thank you. I'm Potts, by the way. Bill Potts."

"I'm Martha Jones," Martha held her hand to shake, and Bill gladly accepted it with a genuine smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Bill."

When Bill went home that night, feeling a sense of warmth that was absent for many months, Moira was sitting on the sofa with the TV playing some random game show in the background. Resting on her lap was a small box containing photos of someone Bill had never seen before, and as Moira stood from her seat, she explained that photos related to her seemed to almost appear out of nowhere after she went digging in the loft that very much needed a spring clean. For the rest of the night, Bill looked at each of the pictures one by one and felt herself fall into a deep silence. As she flicked through the photos of different qualities and some hidden with lens flares of bright greens and oranges, happy tears fell freely from her face.

A soft smile she now recognised glanced back at her, one that she now knew was the smile of a Mother.

Her Mother.

* * *

Bill found a close friend in Martha and spent much of her breaks in the comfort of a freshly made cuppa and the humour of the everyday gossip. Rebecca didn't mind too much when Bill told her the news and seemed very happy that Bill found a new friend. She bypassed the conversation and expressed that she was nearing her finals and needed as much time as possible to study. Potts took note of the worry in her voice despite her attempts to hide it to which Bill offered her comforting smile and told her not to worry since she was outstanding in her course of choice. After all, Bill had never forgotten the first time Rebecca showed her the many photos of herself and her best friend, Sara Bates. With a smile, Rebecca left for her lessons, and Bill found herself with a deep sense of hope and maybe even pride.

Martha, in one of many conversations, explained that she was acting as Mr Smith's assistant and went on to say that the two knew each other by name. Bill, out of curiosity, asked about their history together.

"It's quite funny actually," Martha told her. "We met at a hospital. I was studying to be a doctor, and he was my patient. And it went from there."

In disbelief and shock, Bill leaned forward in her chair with a gaping mouth and digging eyes. "You were training to be a doctor? That's fricking awesome! How come you're here?"

As Bill learned very quickly, Martha had a 'no swearing' policy and kept her words to a PG standard. She didn't think much of it, but it seemed to set Martha off a little when Bill let slip a few misplaced words. Potts never asked, but she suspected it was something upsetting.

"I don't know," Martha continued, "I guess other things got in the way. Mr Smith being one of them, of course. Maybe I'll go back one day if I ever have the chance."

"Are you and Mr Smith..." Bill gestured with her hands, trying to suggest that the two were possibly a couple. Martha shook her head at the thought.

"Oh, no, just friends. I think I'm the third wheel if you know what I mean."

"So, he loves someone else?"

Martha nodded with a noticeable dryness in her eyes. "Yeah, something like that."

Bills next words were said with caution, knowing that a subject such as love was a tricky one. "He doesn't know you love him, right?"

When Martha uttered no words in response, Bill knew her answer. She opted to go gently into the conversation as to not say something that could offend.

"First time I came here," Bill began to explain. "I met this girl, really pretty, and I gave her extra chips. You know, out of kindness. I hoped she got the hint, but it kept going and eventually, after giving her so much, I made her put on weight."

Martha scoffed. "That sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"God it was, and I found out that I'm no Romeo that this kind of thing. But I keep hoping that I'll find someone someday. It won't be any time now, obviously, so I guess I'm destined to be single."

"I'm sure you'll find other girls. You have your whole life to find one."

Bill laughed at that. "Find me a time machine, then I'll believe you."

* * *

Life is a cruel thing, forged with iron and fire and cast onto anyone that found its pale light. It turns at the flick of a switch, from the warmth of one day to a dark reality another. Bill wished, prayed even, that this would never happen to her. She hoped that her life, despite its ups and downs, would hold some hope for the future and grant her an extensive line of happiness to remember and look upon fondly.

That day, when the sun hid behind the white and cluttered clouds, and the birds sang their songs of the morning air, life turned vile. It revealed its real face, a sickening display of deception and false promises.

When Bill came in for her morning shift, she was told to clear up the student halls for the next few hours while the students were elsewhere preparing for the next few weeks of studying before the Christmas fever truly set in. The block was nothing to gaze with awe and very much resembled that of a teenagers room having left for others to sort out. It wasn't overpacked with junk as Bill had expected, but it was beginning to show signs of dust and neglect. So, armed with rubber gloves and vacuums freshly emptied, Bill got to work.

Each week, cleaners were given schedules to clean out the shower heads and plug holes to maintain a functional bathroom for the students. No one needed to be present since the cleaners were given access to the rooms when needed but, let's say, that Bill wasn't the first to catch someone in the act of 'having fun.'

Rebecca never told Bill which room she was staying, or even which building block. So, when Bill knocked on the seventh door of block C and received no answer, she didn't expect to see her as she opened the door with her key. Bill would have said hello, acted surprised that Rebecca lived in this part of the building and maybe even asked if it was alright to do her job. Perhaps, she would have also started a conversation as she did so and start the day relatively well.

She didn't say anything, neither did she utter a word, when she saw the young girl on the floor with an empty bottle of pills. Lifeless.

She expected to cry or maybe even scream and to fall on her knees and damn the heavens for eternity. Perhaps, she would have shaken the cold and still form and begged them to wake up and to see those beautiful and bright eyes gleam with life.

None of that happened, nothing dramatic or sorrowful showed itself on the scene. Bill Potts stood alone in the empty corridor of the student halls, having uttered nothing or even taking a single breath.

Life, it seemed, was a cruel thing indeed.

* * *

The funeral was mere days later with a crowd of black and stained eyes among the salty rain. Martha stood beside the young cleaner, dressed in black dresses and fighting the harsh coldness of the world. Family members, even students, had come to pay their respects to the life that was lost. Mourning, to the future, scrapped too soon. A story that had ended with a conclusion never to come.

"This wasn't your fault."

Maybe Martha had said those quiet and gentle words, or perhaps it was the unspoken ruler of all things revealing his sickening smile and wonder. Bill didn't know, and neither did she care. Instead, she stared at the mud that fell with grace onto the wooden coffin that slowly melted away into the earth and rain. The heavy smell of the dirt hit her senses and surrounded her with the unchallenged notion of the fallen. The lives wiped away, and the ones never to come back. She hated the smell, more than ever.

When the dust had settled, Martha and Bill came face to face with a young woman. Her hair was a deep rose and grown past her slender shoulders. She, along with the other mourning souls, held a dark umbrella and dressed appropriately in flat shoes that sunk into the muddy ground. When she came to the two young women, she offered a friendly smile that seeped through the creaks of her sad face.

"Hello, you must be Bill Potts, right?"

Bill nodded, slipping a bare minimum smile. She supposed it was better than keeping the blankness in her expression and wished for something better, something to bring warmth to this world of ice.

"Rebecca told me about you; she said you were a good friend. I'm Sara, by the way."

Again, despite her desperate attempts to end her silence by uttering some sentence, she nodded.

Martha stepped forward, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'm so sorry; I can't imagine how hard this must be."

"It's alright; I just wished I came down more often. I remember Rebecca talking about going to America for a trip when I came back." The smile fell from her cold face, water dripping, and hiding the formation of tears. "I guess that won't be happening now."

"Don't forget, you have others who are willing to help you. Talk to them if you need to."

"Of course, thank you."

When the time for words was exhausted, the young Sara Bates joined her family and drove away with one of the many hearses. Bill watched her disappear into the haze as Martha stayed by her side.

In the distance, a lone man stood against the blossom tree and watched the cloud of murk and ink spread into the disturbed whole in the earth. The girls remained where they stood, cloaked in the grief that never left and when the scene had dulled down the woman, with her hair now dampened by the rain, had turned her gaze to the lone man with an unfocused look and eyes filled with such pain.

He never said a word, and perhaps it was best that he didn't.

* * *

After that, nothing felt the same, and everyone could feel it at the University. The once vibrant halls were now a wasteland of silence and misery. The days that went by felt like an obligation and slowed beyond comprehension. Bill thought it the most, working as she always would but somehow feeling a never-ending hole that grew too deep for her to handle. She found herself talking to Martha less, not wanting any optimism or kind words. Such things felt like a sick joke now, holding no weight or a promise of change. Nothing felt like it would get better, and nothing would ever be the same again.

No one heard from Sara afterwards, believing that she left town to resume her studies. Whether that was a smart idea or not was beyond Bill since she had no idea how she would cope with the never-ending guilt and dread that swarmed her veins and clouded her judgment. When the promise of continuing her cleaning meant some hope of peace of mind, even that was taken away when police officers began appearing on the scene. They all told the same story that they were investigating the suicide, but it seemed almost pointless. Bill didn't want to think that someone out there would have had the nerve to lay their own hands on the sweet girl and hoped that such a death was by her own devices rather than the sick and twisted mind of another.

It wasn't long until Bill was relieved of her work for the police to continue their investigation. Students dismissed themselves from their studies to clear their minds of the horrible event, and each department of study rescheduled finals until the bitter vibe would fade. Bill didn't mind so much, thinking that she needed the change to breathe again after so long. However, it seemed that even that was out of the question when the police were swarming in their advance. Thousands of alarm bells in Bills head began to screech as she knew that something was wrong. She began to think that this couldn't have just been a suicide, or even believing that some sicko could have killed poor Rebecca.

Martha came back after some time with a stranger demeanour than average. Bill suspected that something was up but, unlike Martha, wasn't as open to discussing this. She debated, leaving her to her troubles, knowing full well that such thinking was cruel. But what could Bill say? She had been distant from her since the funeral, and she knew it was on her. She couldn't just go up to her and ask how she was, right?

The answer became clear before she could even try to find out when Mr Smith appeared beside the woman with a stern face and a presence that spoke business. Now, Bill was even more nervous to ask as she didn't want to get in the way of what they were discussing. But, as she looked between them, she saw a wave of intensity. An exchange of rapid breaths and harsh whispers occurred between them, and Bill began to think that something had occurred beyond her knowledge. She didn't want to seem like a snoop, but with everything going on she didn't want to leave any log unturned. For the time being, she decided to keep an eye on the two.

Within the week, Bill followed the two and ensured that she was keeping her distance from them as not to be spotted. Each day, they wandered to the back of the University to a lone wooden door at the bottom of the stone steps. Mr Smith was the one that entered more frequently then Martha and, on some occasions, they stayed in there for hours on end. It was strange. Bill wondered what they could be doing in a basement for half the day, and frantically removed the dirty thoughts from her mind before they could manifest.

By the end of the week, Bill knew the route instantly and decided to traverse down to the basement. On that day, when the clouds hovered over the University, and the wind began to pick up, Bill made her way quietly across the damp grass and towards the stone stairs leading to the door. In an instant, the cold began to crawl across her body and shiver her bones to the core.

"Bloody hell…"

The wood was old, almost medieval-like and Bill pondered how she never noticed the door before. After all, compared to the rest of the University, the door would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Regardless she reached out and opened it with care, hearing the creak from the rotted wood and took her first step into the basement.

The first thing Bill saw was, in fact, nothing. A chasm laid waste before her, a pit that seemed to descend further than any human could comprehend. The light, it seemed, was trapped by the edges of the wall and from within only the notion of darkness remained. Perhaps it was a sign that Bill should turn away, that this was a horrible idea from the start but with everything happening she did not wish to give up and go back to a world of just accepting. So, with her breath deep and her heart ready, she proceeded.

The whispers of the water were the first thing that awoke from within the darkness of the tomb. Tears wept through the rotting ceiling and ran off the precariously placed rock slabs before her. Bill took a chance at the stability and trusted that it wouldn't collapse anytime soon. From her pocket, her iPhone sprung alive with its artificial light, and the young woman pressed her finger to the touchscreen to enable the flashlight. The room once coated in ink now flashed with grey stone and wooden pillars.

The room was like a catacomb made from gravel that bled into the embedded wood that held the place together. The ground crunched beneath her feet as Bill skipped past the puddles that had built up over what must have been years. She focused her light in front of her, and an image slowly came into view, a tall object armoured with iron and engravings.

An arrangement of circles and shapes covered the bronze of the wall that resembled another old door. This time the wall was covered with metal symbols and a pad in the middle that Bill presumed was a lock. Bill had to step back to view the door in its entirety; the size of it was mesmerising. She gazed at the pad again, noting the regular spread of red lights across the metal surface. She suspected that the red lights must have signified that the room before her was out of reach, at least for now. Bill didn't complain since she had no intention of going inside. Even if her curiosity demanded otherwise, she certainly didn't possess the key to that weird looking lock.

As she turned, the striking splash of blue greeted her like an old friend. The recognisable blue of the police box stood before her with the same 'out of order' sign left on the handle. However, the plank had notably taken damaged, and edges from the paper had burnt away. Bill almost swore she could see a small sign of flaming orange that dimmed away moments later. Whatever damage had taken place, it happened recently. She frowned, having no idea how such a big object had moved without her or anyone seeing it and especially with little to no scratches or hinges out of place beside the burns on the paper. Surely the wood should be at least a little charred.

Now Bill was beginning to feel the nerves in the pit of her stomach. The red flags were even more prominent now, and everything was telling Bill to get the hell out.

In a dark and gloomy place like this, she didn't have to think twice.

"Bill?"

She was spotted, a rabbit in the headlights. She turned swiftly to the sight of her captor and almost dropped her phone in the progress.

Martha Jones stared in alarm.

"Bill, what are you doing here?"

She struggled to scrape up a reasonable excuse. 'I snuck in' or 'I lost my way' but she was startled into silence and unable to think of anything. Her mouth remained agape as her face flicked from Martha and the towering door.

'_This is my chance_,' she thought, '_I can find out what's going on_.'

"Bill, you can't be here," Martha rushed towards her and held her by the shoulders. Bill was still coma toast and unable to escape from her grasp, "if the Doctor finds you here, we'll both be in trouble."

_The Doctor?_ What – or rather _who_ – was she talking about, and why did this room even exist?

Bill finally managed to form words, despite their volume being too low to hear. "Why? What's going on?"

"Please! Pretend none of this happened-"

"_Martha!_"

They both turned, caught in the heat of the moment and saw a man standing in the remaining light from the entrance, his silhouette like a creature from an old photograph blurred and distorted. Bill knew him almost instantly as the light cast upon his face, the spiky hair and the mud of the coat with the blue of his suit and the blood of his trainers. He was closer now, tangible.

Mr Smith had found them, very much as alarmed as Martha had been, and holding a silver device in his hand. Before any of them could explain the predicament or plan an escape, the man stormed forward, a loud echo from his feet rippled against the stone. It seemed as if the rubble shivered at his presence.

"Martha, who's this?"

"It's Bill; she's a friend-"

Cutting her off, the man in the coat stepped further with dark intent. "She can't be here!"

"I know that! I don't know what happened- she must have snuck in!"

"We have to get her out _now_!"

Bill couldn't even register what was happening as her senses seemed to be shutting down and dulling her response. The next thing she knew, the two had descended into a contest of screaming over each other. Throughout it all, when life felt so far from reach, she turned to the door again and felt the air turn still and cold. The voices faded away into silence, and the ringing in her ears droned.

Then, suddenly, there was a bang. A chant of dongs as if a great and mighty church had invaded her head. The echoes of Martha and Mr Smith's voices silenced and turned to the blue of the box. The grand object chimed in rhythm to a deep hum.

"Doctor…" Martha spoke in the gaps of silence. She knew that sound well.

Mr Smith stared with horror at the blue box as its sound echoed throughout the tomb. His breath turned ragged, struggling to push air through his lungs.

"Something's wrong…"

Then, as the man turned to the panel, the red lights flickered, and the lock clicked and coiled.

He bolted.

"No, no, no, no, no, NO!"

He slammed his body against the wooden door and used his metal device that buzzed and glimmered with a blue hue against the panel. Martha followed not far behind, and Bill was helpless to do anything other than stand in the very spot she had occupied.

"Doctor, what's happening?"

"The doors unlocking, I have to stop it!"

"You said the Tardis was keeping an eye on it- you said it could scan for anything!"

"_Well,_ yes, right now!"

"Doctor, what's in there?"

"I don't know!"

"You're not acting like 'you don't know'!"

"Martha please I can't-"

_Click!_

Silence.

The absence rang out through the stone walls and the dripping water from the ceiling. There was nothing, not a peep, only the sound of heavy breaths and shallow lungs from the young cleaner.

They waited, fearful of the unknown.

"Both of you get back."

"Doctor…"

When the man turned to his friend, she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Back _now!_"

Martha, very much in the same predicament as Bill, complied and pulled the young woman away. However, she felt the restraint from her friend.

"What's going on?"

"Bill, come on…"

"Who the _hell_ are you people?"

Martha wished she could answer, provide clarity to a scenario that very much needed it. But right now, she needed to get her friend away from the door and protect her from whatever horrors dared to show their ugly face.

"Doctor," Martha whispered. "What _is_ it?"

There was a moment when the man said nothing, breathing steadily and compiling his will to stand strong in front of these two young and vulnerable people. He eyed the door as it creaked open and took a deep breath.

"I don't know."

As the doors exposed what lied beyond, the ground below trembled and caused small pallets of stone to hit the floor. The wood scrapped against the gravel and left a fresh trail in its wake. They watched helplessly as the blackness from within became clear to them, and they braced themselves for the fears that would come alive.

They waited, gripping the very last of their sanity until the silence would pass, and whatever monster had slept inside the abyss took its first steps into the light.


	2. Part 1 - Chapter 2

The earth was still, silent in the chilling breeze as the darkness swallowed the three onlookers, and they felt every fibre of their souls be reduced to stone. Muscle, lungs and hearts trembled in the white noise and pulsed through their ears, wishing it to break, to be sliced and shattered and begging it to cease. The brittle and rusted doors remained open. Ebony bled into the cracks in the gravel, and a harsh air scratched at the walls. The three had not moved as they waited; waited for a resolution.

The man, with the tip of his coat sodden, raised his silver device and took a couple of gentle yet cautious steps towards the door. Martha stayed with the stunned Bill Potts, keeping her close and safe by her side.

When Martha called his name, low and full of worry, the man gave her a sideways look and raised his free hand, hovering by his side as to ease his friend. He wanted to ensure that she had no plans on following him, fearing the worst. His lips pulsed together and released a tender hush, a final warning to stay away.

Martha, speechless, obeyed.

John returned his gaze to the darkroom, noting the faint breathing and the distant drip of the water above. He took another step, device in hand and thinned his lips.

"Hello?"

It wasn't the best way to start a conversation with an unknown entity, especially one with possible harmful intent, but the man believed a friendly approach would ease them from the dark and show them that they meant no harm. It was a gamble, the man had to admit, but it was better than nothing.

When no reply was made, he continued slowly towards the door with his arm raised out in front of him and palms facing the grey of the floor. Simultaneously, he shrunk his body closer to the ground as to diminish his form into a less threatening manner. Martha, fearful for her friend's life, opposed the idea.

"Doctor wait-"

"It's alright," He reassured her while keeping his eyes ahead of him, "Everything's alright, see?"

The silver device that once rested in his tight grip disappeared into the pocket of his coat. He ensured his movements were gradual, enough to show that the man was no threat to the mysterious being. Still, the creature remained in the dark; within the confinements of the room and heaved with every huff.

Then, from within, a soft sound of a footstep breached the room. It came closer to the wooden door and passed through the echo, becoming physical. Again, the man seized the opportunity and took another step. Both hands now hovered in front of him, acting as barriers of protection and of calming resolve.

"Hello, it's alright we're not here to hurt-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the being finally revealed itself and embraced what little light graced the stone tomb. The details of their form were precise and all too familiar, even in the faded glow, and Martha Jones, with Bill still stunned in her arms, resisted the sharp exhale threatening to escape.

The creature was nothing special. Nothing that would make their heart pound or stature shrink. There was neither a look of pure hunger, nor any aggression in its gaze. No claws. No fur. No mutilated form.

Before them, taking its first steps into the dim light, was a girl.

An ordinary, blue-haired girl.

John had to suspect that the girl looked no older than twenty-years-old. Her skin was pale, the colour seemingly drained away, leaving only a dull tone. Her matted hair reached the tip of her shoulders, struck with sapphire, and he could barely see her coal eyes as they hung beneath. But, through the cracks, he could see the heavy bags that laid below and the two, almost symmetrical, scars that crossed the right side of her lip and eye.

Despite that, the man could not take his eyes off the clothes that rested on her form. They were draped over her, more prominent than they should be and hauled behind like a wedding gown. A beautiful shine of a deep red and a tint of gold dyed the fabric, a pairing very much accustomed to the man.

Gallifreyan robes.

No one said anything for the longest time, still trying to wrap around the idea of a woman being trapped in this cage—this vault. The man especially had no words that would give any kind of clarity, merely staring as she leaned against the wood of the door with one hand, the other hanging lazily beside her. She heaved with every intake of breath, and her eyes remained fixed on the ground with her matted hair obscuring her features.

The man couldn't feel the familiarity of his own kind, despite the robes being a clear indication of the fact. However, he could feel something bleach their surroundings, infest his lungs and drown out his thoughts. Whatever it was, it wasn't friendly.

Martha wished she could say anything, at least something that wouldn't come across as obvious or stupid. But, in reality, what could she say?

There was a girl, a human, locked in a vault for god knows how long.

And yet, she survived.

That was the kicker, the real shock that stunned the three. This woman was trapped with no food or water, or at the very least not enough that would last the years that the vault was kept under the University. The doors were old—medieval—with the lock beyond anything modern or anything remotely man-made. A mystery that hoped to be solved with a simple missing key suddenly turned into a web of millions of questions, many that Martha was sure would not be answered. Or maybe, questions she feared the answer to.

"Doctor," Martha spoke, "Its—a woman."

Yes, it stated the obvious, and it wasn't anything useful, but she had to say something. Anything, to break the unbearable cold and to finally confirm the truth to herself. Thankfully, The Doctor didn't seem to mind as he simply nodded. Though, he never once turned his back to the woman as he was going through his own set of questions. Of those questions, the man knew only the answer to one. At least, he believed he did.

He wasn't sure, not yet anyway.

He didn't want to be right.

When the man and his trusted companion seemed to break from their tense stances, with Bill Potts slowly coming around with a slight turn of her head and a dim focus in her eyes, The Doctor decided to take another step. He planned his next moves carefully knowing that the easy part was done, manoeuvring his body to try and block the woman's line of sight from the exit.

Sensing his steps, the woman lifted her head from the ground and watched the man approach. As she did, a vacant eye revealed itself through the locks of her hair. She said nothing, too busy trying to control the heaviness in her chest.

"Hello," The Doctor started gently, "Can you understand me?"

There was no reply, but the man noted a small twitch in her eyes. It didn't help much, but at least she could hear him.

"My name is The Doctor. This is my friend Martha and—" He turned quickly to his friend. "Martha, what's her name again?"

"Bill, its Bill." She debated adding 'Did you seriously forget?' but decided against it, figuring it was too inappropriate in the current situation.

"—And Bill. They're nice people, they won't hurt you. And neither will I."

The woman merely stared, black meeting amber.

"I just want to help. I won't do anything, I promise."

Her heavy gaze was the only response he received and her tight grip on the door hardened. Knowing a conversation was pointless, he tried looking behind the woman and into the vault, but even his keen eyes were unable to decode anything in the pitch black.

There was no source of light, not even a blink in the cracks. The door revealed nothing but darkness. Any light from the room behind them that struggled to snake its way across the threshold was snuffed out. Too quick to process, the man found himself moving on instinct as he reached his hand to the woman. The movement startled her as her eyes scurried to catch up.

"How about you come with us, Hm?"

"Doctor…" Martha spoke again, feeling the all too familiar pit in her stomach.

"It's alright, everything's alright. I just want you to come away from there, ok?"

It seemed a while until the woman averted her eyes from the held-out hand of the stranger and looked into the void she exited. The cage, now empty and hollow with no one concealed, stood alone in the stillness yet held its doors open. It threatened them, daring to close and hide away its secrets from the world. The woman was feeling such a pull, eyebrows frowning yet curling upwards as they focused on the infinite black space. She turned back with the very same eyes, divided.

She took a step back.

"No, no, no, wait," The Doctor reached further, hands now low and level to his waist. He kept his demeanour calm and collected, even if the fear of the unknown distracted him. "You don't have to stay in there."

She stopped, legs mid-step.

"Come with me," The Doctor spoke. "Please."

His hand remained, beckoning her.

"I can take you away from here, into the sunlight. No more darkness and no more silence. How does that sound?"

She remained unsure as her own hand rose from her side. It clutched into a fist, fiddling with the soft surface of her skin and hovered in an undeciding limbo. As her hand came forward with The Doctors, it flinched at the tender touch and halted the advance of the man.

With patience, he waited and watched her hand slowly rest on his own.

The Doctor felt a small triumph within him with a widened smile, albeit the somewhat dead touch of the woman nearly snatching it away.

"There, see? I won't hurt you."

He wasn't sure if she heard him, eyes fixated on the connected skin they shared and cherishing the warmth she may not have felt for years. The Doctor decided to stay as they were, feeling that she deserved some time to adjust to her new environment.

It was then that he felt her grip loosen and move upwards towards his wrist to feel the pulsing veins beneath the flesh, and the man himself felt his own hand mimic her movements, feeling her beat.

_Irregular, faint…_

"I think its best we get you to the T-"

He was cut off by a tight grip, thumb over his veins and fingers digging beneath. His eyes ran to hers, watching her brow deepen, pupils dilate and teeth grit. The hold was stronger with each passing second, and the black void that was her eyes glared with unimaginable _hate_.

He turned, eyes now wild to his companion as his mouth flailed open but before he could even utter a word, his body slammed into the hard grit and hands tightly wrapped around his throat, pressing down and cutting away at his life.

"Doctor!" Martha screamed, alarmed at the sight of her friend now pinned to stone by the very woman they released and in that split second, Bill might as well have vanished into thin air as Martha released her arms and darted to The Doctors aid. She yelled at the woman to let go, hands gripping hers and pulling back as hard as they could. Whatever she was taught about escaping a horrible fate was now many miles from view as she felt her heartbeat race in her chest and her adrenaline fuel her strength.

"Let him go! You're killing him!"

She couldn't bear to look into the eyes of her friend, teeth clenched, and breath laboured with eyes rolling back into his head. Perhaps, however, that would have been better than the vacant eyes of the perpetrator she was greeted with instead. The woman's irises had shrunk beyond human boundaries and her eyebrows deepened with blind rage. The sight made Martha pull as hard as she could and almost gag at the eerie nature of it, but despite the somewhat frail form of the woman she was able to resist and push further into the man's throat.

The Doctor did what little he could to save his own life, tightening his hold and desperately scratching away at the threat, but with his head becoming lighter the more his throat closed, his own will began to waver, and his sight blurred out the world into a hazy flare.

"Let him go," Martha tried again, "Please- let him _go_!" But her words landed on deaf ears as the woman remained in her threatening stance. It was then, and only then, that Martha dared to peek at her struggling friend with a loss for words and a helpless dread taking over.

Then, it hit him. The idea became evident in his mind as his eyes met the void of the other. The murky and weary bags were plain to see, and the shadow of the women's fringe darkened the face into malice. It was then that the Doctor knew what to do and pleaded with himself to be strong enough to try.

His hands removed themselves from the woman and reached upwards towards her forehead. Thankfully, her gaze was fixated on his own to notice any slight movement he made, but the small amount of resistance that he applied was now removed and now he was very sure she was close to breaking his neck.

"_It's now or never_."

He pushed forward with his remaining strength and placed his thumbs side by side on her forehead, curling his fingers around her skull. He could feel her mental instability and the broken barriers that perhaps used to hold her mind together and, knowing no other alternative, pushed past the ruins of her mind and thought a single word.

_Sleep._

The effect was instantaneous. In a matter of seconds, the hate-filled chasm that infested those tired eyes relaxed, and the ever growing pupils constricted until the faint grey of her eyes returned from the pure black that they were before. The breath stuck in her throat released peacefully and her chest relaxed. The unimaginable strength that Martha battled to destroy had dissipated and soon her body sagged and fell on its side into the gravel, unconscious and fast asleep. As soon as Martha felt no resistance, her hands released before the woman's dead weight dragged her down to the ground with her. For a moment the built-up fear dissipated. However, when she saw the hunched figure of her friend as he gagged and struggled to regain the lost air back into his lungs, Martha snapped to attention.

"Oh my god- Doctor!" The young medical Doctor was by his side within minutes and proceeded to help him recover from the scene that took place, holding him up by the shoulders and taking small breaths for the man to copy. "It's alright, I'm here. Just breathe with me."

He tried to mimic her, holding his throat and taking in whatever little oxygen was in the air and trying to reassure her of his fortunate fate, but not even a single vowel could pass over his lips, let alone a sentence. All he could do was stay calm and hope to recover soon.

"Take it easy, you'll be alright."

It was to be expected of a doctor in training, to use reassuring words to help their patient regain their bearings after a traumatic experience. Martha was well aware of the emotional toll one would have to take on to help the sick and desperate. But in this moment, she had to admit that the words were not only for her friend who, even now, was still fighting for his life. No, it was her who needed to hear those words the most, for the fight was yet to end. The battlefield was still raging all around her and for one horrible and terrifying moment, she was sure beyond any doubt that she would lose her best friend.

It didn't matter if all he could make out of her was a shadow or if her affirmation landed on deaf ears. She would ensure this man, the man she had grown to adore, would be safe and very much alive.

Arms shaking from exertion, The Doctor was just strong enough to push himself up from the rough terrain of the ground and, with Martha's aid, lift himself into a sitting position. However, the action only worsened the lightness that continued in his head, and he had to mentally pushed back the urge to lie down. The worry in Martha's eyes was enough to disregard that desire entirely, knowing she had suffered enough horrible surprises. Instead, he found his hand move to his neck, now free from the clutches of the unconscious woman, and wince at the hard surface. A bruise had definitely moulded onto his skin and he tried to think up which of many scarfs he would now have to wear for a while.

He couldn't help the glance that fell on the woman, fast asleep and away from harm. He knew what he did was considered a last resort as, funnily enough, mentally pushing through the mind of a broken soul was not as sound as it may seem. But such a last resort did occur, and whatever guilt was bubbling up would have to wait. Whatever words he had to muster was swallowed back into his stomach and Martha would have to be kept in the dark for a bit longer. The situation was hectic and had become worse than he could have imagined.

At least, maybe in a twisted way, he believed it was better that his own throat had to suffer rather than his companions. He couldn't bear the thought, not even for a moment.

"How are you feeling? Let me take a look." Martha said, concern fuelling her words as she attempted to move The Doctor's hand from his neck. As a result, he leaned back to further the gap between them.

"I-It's fi-"

"I'll decide that. Come on."

How he thought he was gonna get away with that was beyond him. There was no doubt in his mind that Martha would not rest until he was ok and he knew he shouldn't even attempt to try and stop her. Reluctantly, he complied with the young doctor and moved his hand from the deep purple that formed on his neck. Martha bit back the growing anger when her eyes landed on the deep bruise, a deep violet mixed with a dirt yellow that curled around him into the shape of a hand. The ends still bled from the woman's nails.

It was the mark of attempted murder, and Martha hated the sight.

Without a word, she moved her hands from his neck and fixed the collar of his coat to relax herself and coughed lightly as a way of transitioning her gaze into one of contained gravity.

"That's a nasty bruise. I'd say to have it checked but I know how you are-"

She would have kept going, probably annoying the man to death with her stating of the obvious. Instead, she was welcomed by an unexpected noise that sounded like a huff vibrating in the man's throat. It certainly wasn't a sound she was expecting, not after this.

The Doctor, in a state that could only be described as one dragged from no man's land itself, and one who had just escaped such a horrific demise, was smiling.

No, more than that. He was _smirking._

"Oh, don't you dare."

Her warning was dismissed and the smile only grew, bubbling inside and erupting from his wounded lips.

Into A _laugh_.

Martha was dumbfounded. "No- stop it! This isn't funny, you idiot!"

But the man didn't stop and Martha was compelled to slap him on the shoulder for his utter carelessness. Why would he be laughing about this? What was possibly funny about the whole thing? Well, Martha was merely human, and one such being that quivered at the unknown, yet stood head strong in its wake. She had yet to experience this on a daily basis, still relativity new to the whole thing. Perhaps, in time, she may be able to get used to the way the unknown always turned her life on its head, but no one could consider it as common place to have their life in the balance like The Doctor would.

So he laughed, cherished the sizzling sense of adventure he loved so deeply, even if the very sight was arguably offensive or too soon to act. When the action became too hard for him to continue, feeling the returning pain he wished would piss off anytime now, he decided to submit to Martha's demand and slowly manoeuvred his body to silence. He scratched his nose and pushed a hand through his hair, almost amused at the whole thing. Even if Martha would say otherwise.

_ "__Just another normal day,"_ He thought to himself.

He found himself returning her stare, now bewildered at the action he displayed. He figured after a while she would get used to it, maybe even join him in his bumbling pleasure like _she_ would. But she wasn't her and he knew he couldn't force her into actions that was unlike her. The drip drop of the tomb sustained even through the chaos and it certainly helped with the silence that spread between them. He even adjusted his leg to fight the numbness that was creeping up behind with his hand resting on the grit. They stayed that way, mimicking each other's chests and resisting the urge to be the first to speak. Unlike most times Martha had been with The Doctor, the stubborn hush was welcomed.

But they both knew that one had to speak first, otherwise they would end up being stuck there for hours. They may not have known it personally, but they were just as stubborn as each other and didn't want to admit when they had crossed a line or said something upsetting. For Martha, that line was crossed often.

The Doctor lost this match, letting out a hoarse cough and opening his mouth to speak, "Y-You alright?"

Martha's eyebrows rose, a mixture of shock and amusement. Those weren't exactly the words she was expecting him to say. Especially after that scene he just pulled. "I should be asking you that, you moron!"

"But you are though, right?"

She couldn't believe it. After being strangled by a mad woman and then proceeding to _laugh _about it, he was asking _if she was ok? _It was absurd! If anything he should have apologised for scaring the shit out of her. The absolute nerve of the man. She should have told him off, put him in his place and told him how much of an asshole he was being, and she was close to doing just that, very close.

However, she didn't know what it was. Maybe it was relief or happiness or just plain stupidity, but whatever unforeseeable force made her change her mind vanquished the thoughts from her head and soon she found herself imitating the very action she considered felony. In that moment, she felt her own chest bubble with laughter and her arms wrapped around his torso, chest resting on his beating hearts, mindful of his wounded neck. Such a move rendered the man frozen, surprised at her deed with his arms out wide around her. But he couldn't resist, soon wrapping his own arms around her and relishing in the pleasure of good company.

"Don't ever do that again!" Martha exclaimed.

He couldn't help but smile, thankful for her care. "_Oh_, you know me, Martha."

"You could have died!"

"Pretty sure I've done that nine times now."

"I'll make that ten if you don't shut up." Martha retorted, sniffling away her building unease and pulling back to get a better look at her friend. Seeing his own smile filled her with glee. She never really could be angry at the Doctor for very long.

"Please be careful next time. You scared me."

"I know," He couldn't help the corners of his mouth lowering. "I'm sorry."

"Good. You should be. "

When she knew The Doctor was now safe from harm and found the courage to do so, she turned her head to the side to see the blue haired woman in rags just as they left her. She hadn't moved and Martha preferred it stayed that way.

"What did you do?" She asked.

"She's asleep," He replied, still struggling against his husky throat and following Martha's gaze. "She won't wake up for a while. It should be enough time to get her into the Tardis and figure out who she is."

"Why did she attack you?"

"I don't know." He offered. It was only half the truth, but until he was sure, he couldn't tell Martha anything. Not yet, anyway. Besides, Martha's view was blocked by his body making it so that she saw nothing of what the woman discovered about his truth. "Let's not worry about that right now."

Martha hummed, knowing the amount of secrets The Doctor was keeping from her but decided to keep her mouth shut until the right moment. she would have time later to ask him, and she would make sure he told her everything.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Martha froze at the voice. It wasn't The Doctor's and it certainly wasn't her own. She had forgotten through the chaos, careless while drowning in respite. She turned to look over her friends shoulder and was greeted by Bill Potts, now fully aware of her soundings. Her mouth hung in shock and her brows lowered in anger. Martha knew she had a lot of explaining to do, but to how to explain such a thing was out of reach. At the same time, Martha rose from her spot and attempted to say something. But whatever words she thought she could spring into action fled from her mind and she was left speechless once again.

"Bill," Martha tried again. "I can explain."

Before she could rattle her way out of the situation, Bill had already made a beeline for the exit. She tripped over her own feet and nearly slipped on the wet surface that trickled down the stone steps from the rain pouring outside. With everything going on, the three had almost forgotten about civilisation and the very concept of sunlight. Perhaps, they had also forgotten the pleasure of warmth. Even staring at the little specks shining through the gaps of the wooden door was making her eyes water with pain.

Martha was helpless as she watched her friend clumsily carried herself up to the rocky steps to the outside world and felt her own feet carry her halfway until the memory of The Doctor sprung into her mind and she turned to him. She wanted to stay by his side, to protect him from a potential serial killer. But at the same time…

"It's alright," He consoled, knowing her inner turmoil. "Go after her."

She wanted to ask if he was sure, especially with the person who caused a horrible bruise on his neck laying mere centimetres from him. But at the end of the day, she was referring to a nine hundred-year-old time traveller with way more experience than she could even fathom. Even with the earlier scare, her trust in him needed to be absolute despite it becoming frizzled and unclear before. She knew she couldn't worry about him forever; she didn't want her life to revolve around his safety alone. Furthermore, she didn't want to simply let go of the only friend she had made during her travels into the unknown. Something that felt like home was the one thing she knew she needed, and she knew Bill needed it to.

She had to think about Bill, the innocent party in all of this and the unfortunate result of their recklessness. This was her fault, and she needed to put it right.

With a slight nod, she turned to the exit and ran out of the tomb, leaving The Doctor alone in the darkness.

Now it was him, alone once again. But, it wasn't like he was foreign to the concept. Perhaps if Martha knew the truth about his people instead of him lying to her face like he always did, she would have been adamant on staying behind. The last thing he wanted, however, was to hold her hand constantly and carry her around like a child. She had her own life, and even if it hurt inside he had to let her go when others needed her most.

Maybe he needed her still, desiring the company she offered him. Even for a second, he wasn't sure how he managed to stomach the dread of isolation. Having her by his side, it made him forget he was ever alone.

When he was sure Martha was gone from the room and he was the remaining soul left in the underground lair, his attention turned to the sleeping woman beside him.

She was the same, exactly as he remembered her. That memory was no longer buried in the past, along with everyone else he had lost. Now, she was here and very much alive. Except, she had changed in ways he could not put into words. He couldn't help the sorrowful eyes that bled onto his face, the marks of a culprit.

As delicate as he could, considering the tussle he was previously detained in, he dragged his body over until his shadow hovered over the woman and darkened her complexion. She was left unmoving, peaceful and unaware of his presence. He moved his arm over her so his body was on top and his face now level with her own but far enough away in case his trick had decided to fade earlier than intended. With his knowledge of the mind he was sure he was safe, creating enough mental power to shut her down for a period of time suited to him. With luck, he'd be strong enough to wake her by his command. Not that such a thought was something he welcomed.

He felt his hand move without his input and move a strand of blue from her passive expression and behind her ear. Now he could see the scars clearly, aligned from the top of her right eye and scratched down to the bottom of her lip. Her cheek was left unscathed, as if the suspected blade had missed a spot before contacting with flesh once more. But he was certain that both scars were made together and by one culprit.

He absentmindedly moved his hand once more, curling around her cheek and nestling in place. His thumb hovered over the marks, feeling the dry skin carved in place. It was deep, almost a quarter of the way into her flesh, in a way meant to cause great damage to her eye. In fact, such a cut would normally have left one with only a singular functioning eye. However, previous evidence would suggest against this. And yet, the skin was dented. Even now, he could see another deep scar trailing down to her chest, peaking just above the collar of her gown and the bags under her eyes now appeared even darker.

She hadn't slept in a while.

Rather, in a long time.

A _very_ long time.

As he muttered the words, which were now long overdue, he brushed his thumb over her cheek gently; remembering the blade that sliced into the image of a morphing creature and the black ink that spilled over her face. As he said the words, he was caught in a moment in time. One that would not let him go.

"What have I done?"

* * *

Rain, spitting from the clouds and reducing the grass to a sparking field. It seemed like hours since Bill last felt the breeze of the earth and the pure sensation of water falling from the sky. The familiarity of the planet was a welcomed friend, almost declared the basement as some villainous chasm no human should ever have to face. Just thinking about it made the young cleaner cower in submission and being frozen in place was enough of a reason to get the hell out of there. She scolded herself for not doing it sooner.

What even was that whole fiasco? Martha and 'The Doctor', who were they and who was that woman? Why was she trapped in that old room, and why was it so heavily guarded? There were so many questions swarming within Bill to which none could lead to a clear answer or an answer that would be remotely sane. The whole thing was madness, Bill was sure of it, and she wasn't going to wait around to be dragged into its depths. Instead, her feet were on autopilot and carried her across the wet green plane of the University. She was thankful that no one was around, guessing they had left early to clear their minds of the whole situation of the past few days.

"Bill!"

She knew who it was, hearing the second beats of footsteps disturbing the grass as they trailed close behind. She didn't turn around or acknowledge it. She didn't need this, not right now and not ever. She just had to make it home, then everything would be fine.

"Bill, wait! I can explain!"

Once again, she bared no acknowledgement and hoped her supposed friend would find it futile to ruffle an explanation to the absurdity of the situation. It wasn't like Bill was going to listen to her either way, she wanted to be far away from that place, and no one would stop her.

However, the young cleaner did not anticipate the swift hand that laid on her shoulder and turned her body forcefully. The unwelcomed face of Martha Jones greeted her, drenched in small droplets and soaked to the brim.

"Just listen to me-"

Bill didn't give her a chance to speak, swatting her hand away like an annoying bug too close for comfort. In all honesty, Bill was feeling a lot of things. All of which fought for priority.

"No, just leave me alone!" Bill shouted, hoping her raised voice would deliver the message loud and clear. However, Martha merely shook her head and tried again.

"I know what you saw was crazy, but it's not what it seems."

The cleaner scoffed. "Oh, _it isn't?_ Then what the _hell_ was that shit?"

The noticeable flinch of the swear was visible for a second before Martha steadied herself with a quick intake of breath and a substantial release. Now was the time to explain herself, it was apparent. She certainly didn't run into the pouring rain just to be drenched. But what could she say? How could she start this story of adventure and danger, and how exactly was Bill going to believe her? It wasn't like the unnatural was standard placed, despite its recurrence in the newspapers. People still tried to justify the ludicrousy of the supernatural as a faked scenario, much like her first encounter with the Judoon. She hoped Bill wasn't the same.

Before she could even say another word, however, Bill had already begun her walk across the University, and Martha followed swiftly behind. It would be easy to just let Bill walk free, but she knew better than that.

"I swear, Bill! I didn't know what was in there! The Doctor didn't tell me anything!"

"Right, so that's his name now, huh?"

Martha mentally scolded herself, realising the slip of the words. "John Smith, I mean."

Bill shook her head, still marching across the damp green. "Don't bother, I heard everything."

"I know just- just stop a minute, please!"

It wasn't intentional, but Bill stopped in her tracks to face the young Doctor. "Why? What could you possibly say that would justify me seeing a girl _locked up in a basement_?"

"That wasn't us, we didn't want it to open!"

"Oh, so you _wanted_ her to stay locked up?"

Martha paused, scrabbling. "That's not what I meant; I didn't know she was human."

Another shake of the head, an automatic response from Bill at this point. "And what _exactly_ were you expecting? Don't play games with me, Martha."

"I'm not trying-"

"Just stay away from me, whatever is going on I don't want anything to do with it." She tried again to walk, but Martha grabbed her in time and didn't let go.

"We're not what you think we are, Bill. We just want to help."

"Help what?"

There was a notable pause, lips opening and closing with no words to accompany them. "Help you: everyone here."

Bill forced herself to pause, studying the woman holding her within her grasp. With the sky darkening, it was hard to make out the face of the young Doctor and perhaps it was the same vice Versa. Regardless, Bill leaned in just a little with her brow deepening and lips almost twitching with words swarming inside.

"Then where were you when Rebecca killed herself?"

It struck a nerve, the eyes of the young woman rising and somewhat curling into sadness and shock. Bill wondered if it was the wrong thing to say, her own face contorting into doubt before stilling again to mask the uncertainty.

"That's not fair."

"Did you kidnap her?"

Martha was put off guard, almost feeling the whiplash. "What?"

"You heard me; The girl, did you _kidnap _her?"

"Bill please you can't-"

"Don't _Bill _me! I thought I could trust you! I thought I had found someone I could trust! Turns out, she's a psycho with a locked up girl in her closet who almost killed a teacher! If he even is that!"

Martha moved forward, putting her hands firmly on Bill's shoulders. "That is not true."

"Then what is it? There is a girl locked up under the University, and you _knew_!"

"_I_ _didn't know_, Bill!"

"_You're lying!_"

Perhaps Bill expected Martha to respond with a similar tone, to deny the horrible accusation. Instead, the increasing droplets from the dark clouds and the small chirps of the robins filled the silence that passed between them. Bill wished she could say more, a last stab in the wound to finally free herself from this moment but Martha held her hands firm on her slender shoulders as they stood drenched to the bone.

"I'm not lying, Bill," Martha whispered, hot air passing through her lips. "I swear."

She couldn't. No matter how much Bill wanted to scream, even more, to let her former friend know the hurt that her betrayal has caused, she couldn't bring herself to argue anymore. All she could feel was the ever-growing exhaustion that no longer lingered in the back of her mind over the past few weeks.

She'd had enough.

Slowly, Bill placed her hands on the young woman and gently lifted them away. Martha didn't protest.

"Just leave me alone."

"Bill…"

Martha expected a response. Even a single word would have sufficed to put an end to this unfortunate story. Instead, she watched the young cleaner turn away and disappear into the murky haze of grey and blue, bleached with green.

Martha was left alone, but even solitude could not compare to the loss she had to bear.

* * *

_All around, a fury engulfs the battlefield. Distant cries no longer were seen, only heard and fading away into a horrific memory among the clashing of metal and blood. Alone, stands a figure within the blaze as the city of glass tumbles from the once warm orange sky and buries the once mighty race. _

_The figure falls to their knees, dulled by the smell of fire in their lungs. All they can see is the yellow flower dancing, destroying and their skin covered in the blood and bones of the victims that once sang with rejoice. They don't know anything else. There was only one thing to boil within, and nothing else would deny the right. The city once held within its protective bubble shattered and tumbled, the fire reached for the dying star and bronze ships painted the hovering sea of coral. _

_Alone, surviving, the figure recoils. Mouth agape and gasping._

_Screaming._

_Screaming._

_Screaming…_


End file.
